Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Although I know he’s right, relief is hard to come by.
I nod, leaning back in the padded leather seat as the driver takes off.
For the hundredth time today, my mind wanders to Kiersten. I know she’s safe, but I hate not being right by her side. Space and time are two things we’ve had for too long.
She’s all I think about as the engine rumbles and I wait for a call from anyone. An update on any fucking thing. I’ve only been back for a week, and yet it’s like we’ve picked right back up to where we were.
No one calls during the drive, and there’s no update when I return to the office.
I sit down and open up a video chat to my security team, needing to get an update on anything. Fucking something. “What have you found?”
“Still nothing, sir,” Roland says. “We’ve seen three potential sightings of the stalker on the footage, but nothing concrete.”
“What do you mean, potential?”
“Male, average height and build,” Roland explains. “There are a lot of people to narrow down, but we’re doing our best. He has always kept his face unrecognizable or hidden from any cameras. I even had the techs try to do the whole ‘reflected image enhancement’ thing. Which, by the way, is ninety-eight percent bullshit compared to what you might think it is from television and movies.”
The knot in my stomach tightens. “So no leads?”
Roland shakes his head. “No. We’re still analyzing the newest footage, but I’ll be honest, Gabriel, this might be a waiting game. He’ll fuck up at some point. Nobody’s perfect forever.”
I nod, leaning back. “Understood. Do your thing.”
Roland clicks off, and I sigh, trying to think and make a list of names that Joshua doesn’t already have. Alone in the study, all I can do is go over every name I’ve ever known.
When I left, he spent years cleaning up the mess, so to speak. Everyone assumed it was an altercation over business and a supposed accident, although rumors spread that it was malicious. Every whisper was dealt with. Blackmail is a useful tool, but it’s not one that’s foolproof or one that’s effective forever.
Joshua’s tracked down every name on the list, finding their locations, verifying where they’ve been for the last week. Every single one is accounted for, every associate who had any idea of what happened that night seventeen years ago.
Who the fuck could be coming after me? Not that I don’t have enemies that have been freshly made, but Roland and the team have already accounted for nearly all of them. Most are still overseas and nowhere near the East Coast.
I wouldn’t have come back if I thought this could happen.
A knock shakes me from my thoughts. It’s a dull echo from the front door, and there’s no message on my phone.
Anyone who’s able to knock on my door has either already been cleared by my security team, or my security team’s dead in the hallway.
I peep through the fisheye lens, and within seconds I have the door open as an old, familiar face stands on the other side.
“Joshua,” I greet him cautiously.
“Gabriel,” Joshua says, stepping inside without invitation. Joshua’s always been a little cold when on a task, a little bit detached from the rest of the world. It’s not that the man doesn’t feel. I know he does.
He just knows how to divide his life into compartments. And business is business.
As soon as the door closes, he turns, smiling a little. “How are you doing?”
“You can guess. Is this good news or . . .?”
“No leads, but I wanted to check in with you.” His hand rests on my shoulder, and I realize this isn’t about the threat.
We embrace, brotherly, clapping each other on the back hard before turning and heading into the living room. “Want a drink?”
“Not until tonight,” Joshua says, shaking his head. “I’ve got family duties.”
It’s almost shocking to think of Joshua as a family man. When we were young, he was the man who we knew of as a fixer. You had problems . . . he fixed them. For a price, of course. But he earned every cent, and I can only guess at what secrets are filed away in the back of his mind.
Now, while he’s still imposing, almost uniform in his dark suit, there’s hints of gray at his temples, and the ring on his finger is worn, slightly dulled from age and the minor scratches that gold always picks up unless it's polished regularly.
“Good . . . I’m not feeling like a drink either,” I admit, sitting down in the corner chair of the living room. Looking Joshua over, I feel unfamiliar nostalgia sweep through me. “It’s been too long.”
“It has,” Joshua says, unbuttoning his suit jacket and leaning back on the couch, crossing his legs.